


hers

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AI fuckery, Aftercare, BDSM, Dom Tex, F/M, Gunplay, Illustrated, Masturbation, Sub Church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “Fuck you,” Church spits reflexively even though he abruptly, intensely wants to be on his knees in front of her. He’s a contrarian little bitch like that. Can’t ever make anything easy.Tex doesn’t like easy, though. She likes hard. Slaps hard, too.





	hers

**Author's Note:**

> The illustration was done by the awesome [whatevergetsyouoffatnight!](https://whatevergetsyouoffatnight.tumblr.com/) Check their stuff out!

There’s not much to do in the canyon. Sure, there’s standing around and shouting at the Reds, or standing around and shouting at Tucker, or standing around and shouting at Caboose, or running around doing damage control for Caboose-induced disasters when he inevitably tunes out said shouting, but that gets old fast. _So fast._

But do you know what doesn’t get old? Jerking it. He isn’t obsessed with his own penis like Tucker seems to be, but he definitely doesn’t have some sorta monk-like ability to abstain indefinitely like Caboose does either (not that he seems to notice that he isn’t doing something most men do on a regular basis, or even be vaguely aware of it as a concept).

And Church is stuck in a dusty canyon in the middle of nowhere with nothing but idiots to entertain him and so a truly hellish mixture of boredom and stress accumulates inside of him like steam building up in a tea kettle. It starts to get to the point where he thinks he won’t just shriek like one when he bursts either, and so he decides to do something about it, because he is ambitious and a born leader with a real go-getter attitude and-- fuck, he just wants to come, alright!?

But he isn’t a pervert who’s gonna go and fuck a rock like SOME people around here, or whatever it is Tucker does with his special rock, he seriously doesn’t want to know the details, so he tries his best to create a little privacy for himself. He tries this on a regular basis to no avail, but today he’s more motivated than ever.

The Reds stay to themselves unless they’re deliberately provoked, Church sent Caboose on the longest patrol route it's possible to have in Blood Gulch, and then he sent Tucker along with him to keep him on task with his porn mags held as hostage to make sure he actually does as he’s told, because Church has to fucking trick and blackmail his subordinates into following his orders because they suck ass.

He’s getting angry again just thinking about it, a headache threatening on the horizon, but this is why he’s made sure he’ll be left entirely alone for the afternoon, guaranteed. This is why he needs this. It’s been too long since the last time he got to have a really good jerk off session that wasn’t quick and furtive because the base only has common showers and Caboose doesn’t fucking knock before barging into people’s rooms.

He’s going to need several more months, no, _years_ to work up the fortitude to have The Talk with Caboose, so he’s just gonna go ahead and put that off as long as possible. And he just knows Tucker would be weird about it somehow if he walked in on him masturbating because one of Church’s teammates is an unbelievable moron and the other one is _also_ and unbelievable moron but a sex pervert as well to boot! Clearly Blue Team was stacked with nothing but winners. Lucky ass Red Team… Sure, _everyone_ in the canyon was a total idiot, but at least that Grif guy seemed kinda clever, and the Simmons dude looked like he actually _liked_ taking orders. Church would kill for that in a teammate (and also immediately distrust it, but still).

So Church watches Caboose and Tucker leave the base, Caboose turning around to wave goodbye at Church again repeatedly, until they take a turn on the path up the cliff face and they’re out of sight. Another moment, and he can’t hear them any long either. Church closes his eyes for a moment, lets out the longest sigh in existence, and then squares his shoulders and turns around to walk inside. No reason to waste the time he has.

He goes into his room and closes the door because there’s no need to tempt fate. He grabs one of Tucker’s bottles of lotion on his way, the guy’s bought them in bulk, there’s no way he’ll notice.

Armor off. Kevlar suit off. Underwear off. He sits down on his bed, naked as the day he was born, feeling awkward. He’s entirely alone in his room with the door closed, yet he still feels too vulnerable like this. He doesn’t even sleep naked, never is except for when he’s in the shower or briefly when he’s changing. He’s not body shy, it’s just… weird. Is it weird to masturbate entirely naked? Should he go and put a shirt and pants on, the pants shoved down his thighs as he does it?

It would definitely be weirder to put clothes on just to masturbate alone, he decides.

Jesus. He’s overthinking repeatedly rubbing his penis until he comes, something so simple monkeys fucking do it. Hopefully overthinking stupid bullshit will stop for him once he gets the time to properly bask in a decent afterglow for once instead of immediately squashing it down in favor of focusing on his best I-totally-wasn’t-just-jerking-off-no-really expression.

He squirts a handful of lotion into his hand and lies down, hand going for his dick, spreading and rubbing the lotion onto it. Fuck, he’s still soft, too nervous and tense for a boner to happen. But if he can just get one going and take advantage of it he knows he’s finally going to get to relax, until his teammates get back to the base at least, at most, come on, _come on--_

Stop. Take a deep breath, eyes closed. Unclench. Think of something sexy. Come on, something sexy.

Being stuck on a desert planet around no one but a bunch of stupid, sweaty dudes for so long really hasn’t done his imagination any favors. They’re not even hot dudes, they’re dudes near constantly stuck in armor which leave so much up to the imagination it isn’t even worth it, Church hasn’t even seen Tucker’s face yet, not that he’d ever jack it to _that_ pervert, wait, Tucker. Should he go and get one of his magazines? Would that be weird? Should--

His eyes stray to the poster of Tex he’s got on his wall, and for a second he thinks that she’s here, back with him, seeing him like _this,_ and he starts and his hand clenches on his dick without him even thinking about it, too hard and too sudden, and it’s so good it startles a moan louder than he’s ever made during one of his hurried, covert jerk off sessions before. Thank _god_ he thought to get rid of Tucker and Caboose, because they definitely would have heard that, wow.

He’s not some weirdo who decided to put up a giant poster of his ex girlfriend on his bedroom wall. Well, he _is,_ but she practically dared him to do it. It had been a night in between Flowers dying and Caboose arriving, the Base too quiet and empty, only one other person who he barely knew at that point to distract him. So, he’d been lying around in his room alone. So, he’d started thinking about Tex, like he usually did if he wasn’t careful. So, he started wondering why they broke up and he couldn’t even remember anything in particular except feeling horribly, soul crushingly sad, _bereft,_ like someone had stolen her right out of his arms--

So, he’d sent her a message.

Nearly a month later along with the supply drop, he gets an actual correspondence. He _somehow_ manages to wait until he gets into his room and away from Tucker to open it because what if it’s something sexy (or even more private, something _sappy,_ no, don’t be stupid, she would never), and he opens the tube and it's a rolled up piece of paper, no, wait, it’s a--

It’s a _poster,_ a huge one of Tex in full armor holding her gun, and scrawled across it in sharpie in her achingly familiar handwriting is STOP CALLING ME XOXO.

It’s like he’s punched in the face with how much he loved (loves) her, and he laughs so hard he cries. He puts the poster up on his wall without hesitation.

He’d only texted her once in a moment of weakness, and he wishes she was there with him so he could shout that at her along with a choice few swear words and then wait for her scathing response so they can get into a good and proper shouting match, screaming insults to their heart's contents, something wildly cathartic about it, until she’s finally done with that part of the foreplay and _jumps_ him--

Church comes back to himself, lying naked on his bed, and he’s actually disoriented for a moment, fully expecting himself to be busy grinning like a dope at a brand new poster of his ex wearing armor so bulky it could be anybody but he knows that it’s her from the confrontational way her shoulders are squared, her finger hovering only one dangerous inch away from the trigger as usual, or maybe for him to be preoccupied with being tackled by Tex, distinctly _not_ wearing her armor, red in the face from shouting and _more,_ eager and excited and touching him and _violent--_

What is _wrong_ with him? He’s fairly sure other people don’t get lost in their memories like he does, not entirely, not totally, not wholly and without abandon, forgetting where they even currently really are for a moment because the sheer force of the sudden remembered memory is so overwhelmingly vivid that it’s like he’s experiencing it for the very first time, overwriting reality.

But… for a moment there he’d forgotten that Tex wasn’t with him any longer, in any sense of the word. Not pressed up against him, not looking at him, not paying attention to him, not interested in him, out of his reach, so far away. He doesn't feel whole without her. 

And then there’s the fact that he’s got a boner now. Fuck yeah.

He chews his lower lip for a moment, thinking, considering, and then goes _fuck it,_ and finds a memory of him and Tex back when she wanted him to sink into.

Because there’s gotta be some of those, right? They were together for-- uh, a long time. Years. Doesn’t matter. (Wow, he’s really gotta be a shitty boyfriend if he can’t even recall _that._ No wonder she ditched him-- because that has to be how it went, right, like a guy like _him_ would ever dump a woman like _her.)_

Church knows he likes sex. And he knows Tex likes sex just like how he knows that her favorite color’s black, sincerely and unironically and daring anyone to give her a _seriously?_ look for it so that she’ll have the pleasure of knocking it off with her fist. He knows because it's a part of her and who she is, he just _knows it._

… Because they were together for a really long time, duh. So long that he can’t even remember just exactly how many years it was, except that it was for years and there were many of them. That feels right.

So, yeah, sex. Him and Tex. She’d be rough as hell, no doubt about it, she doesn’t even understand the definition of the word gentle and she refuses to be taught. She’d--

(his eyes briefly skim over the poster of her standing tall and proud and hostile, fully armored, armed, brimming with power and unspoken threats, her visor pointed at the camera, at him)

\--she’d do him while wearing her armor at least once, wow, yeah. That--

_she’s taller than him like this_

\--that’s definitely happened. Him, naked and hard like he is right now, her, armored and armed and fully in control, just like how she looks in the poster. She

 

says, “On your knees.”

“Fuck you,” Church spits reflexively even though he abruptly, intensely wants to be on his knees in front of her. He’s a contrarian little bitch like that. Can’t ever make anything easy.

Tex doesn’t like easy, though. She likes hard. Slaps hard, too. Probably the only reason she didn’t just full on punch him is because she’s wearing power armor and he isn’t, she’d probably break his jaw, which is a step too far to be sexy for either of them. Neither of them want Church’s mouth out of play, whether that’s because Church wants to be able to continue slinging insults at her or because she wants him to be able to put it to use in _other_ ways.

Church’s mouth waters even as he rubs at his stinging cheek, belatedly remembering to glare at Tex like her striking him upset him in any way.

“On,” Tex snarls, _“your knees.”_

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself,” Church smugly parrots something she’d said earlier, which is the last drop of encouragement Tex needs to _make_ him kneel, just like he’d been aching for from the start. The hand that isn’t holding her gun slams down on his shoulder at the same time she reaches out a foot to sweep his legs out from under him, kicking, pushing down, _slamming_ his knees into the floor.

 _“Fuck!”_ he cries out in pain and startelement both, she’s so _fast_. He feels like he should be able to reach out and slow the world down (or speed himself up?) just so he can catch up with her, but humans don’t work like that so he doesn’t work like that. She’s too fast for him and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It’s thrilling.

She puts her gun up to his head and everything all at once becomes ten times more thrilling. She’d carefully made sure there weren’t any bullets inside of it before they started, even going so far as to remove the firing pin to be sure, but it isn’t fun to think like that. It’s fun to think of it as Tex having the ability to end him at any moment she chooses at her fingertips but choosing not to use it even if she flaunts it, and really, she _does,_ and really, she _won’t._

The muzzle rests against his forehead, cold and pressing heavily, impossible to ignore or forget for even a moment. She knows him so well. Except she never does anything besides what she wants to do. It-- it’s like they’re made for each other, and not just as a corny saying. Really made for each other.

“Don’t push me,” she says, low and forceful, and his dick _aches_ at the sound of her voice, at the sound of that warning, that threat, that _promise._

Church is already so overwhelmed with arousal and adoration that he can’t find the breath or thought to so much as sneer at her, much less come up with a biting response.

“Touch yourself,” she says, voice a soft hush, but unmistakably not gentle.

Church

 

touches himself, so out of his mind with lust that he obeys without question, hand stroking up and down his dick slowly but firmly because he instinctively knows that he’s supposed to wait for further instruction before he can do more. Tucker’s lotion is--

Tucker’s--

Tucker?

Church blinks up at a ceiling that he’s stared at for months now without recognizing it for one long, confused minute. And then--

Blood Gulch, Flowers, Tucker, Caboose, she isn’t here--

He takes a deep breath to center himself and focuses on not letting his erection wilt along with his bewilderment. He just had to focus again, he just had get back into the zone, the memory, the place where he was still with her and she with him.

Remember: his aching knees and aching dick, his hand gliding roughly along his dick because she didn’t tell him to use lotion, he was just going to wait until he was leaking enough precum for things to go more smoothly, and until then rough was fine, it was good, it was _great_ in fact, and remember her yellow visor tilted down to take him in, her gun, the muzzle

 

resting against his lips now in a deadly kiss. When had it gotten there? He’d been so focused on it just a minute-- a second-- a short time ago, it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. But Tex was unbelievably fast. And Church _did_ get pretty distracted when his dick was getting touched, even if it was just him that was doing the touching.

“Open,” Tex says, still in that quiet, intimate tone of voice that still managed to be commanding and so sure of herself, like _of course_ he was going to do as she said even though he so often didn’t.

Church understands immediately, and he obeys immediately, because he might bitch and fight her every other moment, but when they’re like this he wants nothing more than to be pushed around. The urge is so intense it overrides even his need to be difficult and loud and in charge because he doesn’t want to be in charge of _her._ No one should ever be in charge of Tex.

Church opens his mouth and Tex shoves the tip of her gun into his mouth. It tastes like metal and gun oil because Tex takes care of her weapons, her armor, her things. Church hopes she thinks of him as _hers,_ that she wants to take care of him.

“Faster,” she murmurs, sounding transfixed with the sight of him, and it makes something inside of his chest feel giddy, that hole in his chest that always demands that he has to be the center of attention momentarily being filled. He knows the moment that her attention is somewhere else that that hole will be back, but it doesn’t matter right now. Everything is fine right now.

He strokes himself a little faster, and he slides more of the gun into his mouth, sucking on it like a dick. He hears a soft, muffled sound of appreciation from Tex, and he immediately shoves more of the muzzle into his mouth, eager and overjoyed.

Tex makes a forbidding noise, _rips_ the gun out of his mouth, leaving him open mouthed and frozen for a moment at the gun’s absence just long enough for her to draw it back to properly pistolwhip him. He goes crashing into the floor, stunned and, hah, floored.

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” Tex says darkly. “I didn’t tell you to take in more of it.”

A second of blinking, and then: indignation. “You liked it just fine the first time I took more!” he snaps, because she _did,_ she’d made that sound.

“No backtalk,” she says, which is _such_ a copout. He opens his mouth to tell her this and she reaches out with her foot, clad in its heavy boot, and places it firmly on his chest. He’s prone, lying on the ground, and now she’s partially standing on him.

“Tex,” is all he ends up saying.

She grinds slowly down with her boot into his chest.

“And I didn’t tell you stop touching yourself either.”

Tex grinds down with her boot until his chest _hurts,_ and he takes the time to register the hurt on his face from the pistolwhip as well, hot and sharp and there’s going to be a truly magnificent bruise there tomorrow that’ll remind him of this, of her every time he looks in a mirror, every time he smiles or frowns or speaks, every time his face moves and it aches and he remembers why.

“Sorry,” he fervently apologizes, and starts touching himself again, pinned by Tex, staring up at Tex.

His bruised face and chest pulse and throb with sensation along with his dick, along with the rhythm of his hand, of his heart, of his breathing, all of them too fast to be normal but so good and heady and overwhelming him all together and he can’t look away from Tex, couldn’t for the life of him.

“Harder,” she says.

He grips himself harder.

“Faster,” she says.

He pumps himself faster.

Tex points her gun at his head, squarely right between his eyes, aim perfect and steady even now.

His everything speeds up, his pulse, his movements, his thoughts so much that he doesn’t even have them any more, he just wants to listen and fight and hurt and be safe and in danger and with Tex, always, always, please don’t take her away, PLEASE

Tex flips back the safety of her gun and pressed down on the trigger. _Click._

“Come,” she says.

He honestly expects a bullet to hit him for a moment, and the air whooshes out of him as he clenches down on his dick hard, strangling a cry in his throat as the _click_ rings in his ears and he listens without thinking, he obeys without fighting, he comes and it splatters onto his chest. He’s dizzy even lying down on the floor, floating, so carefree and loose for just a moment

 

just like he’d been hoping for when he’d set out to do this.

Everything is abruptly very wrong. The afterglow vanishes without a trace. He doesn’t know where he is. Tex’s boot isn’t pressing down on his chest. Her gun isn’t pointed at his head. She isn’t looking at him, talking to him, she isn’t here where is she _did someone take her away from him no_

Church remembers.

He’s all alone. Just like he’d planned. He’s jerked off. Just like he’d planned. He thought about Tex having sex with him. _Just like he’d planned._

He always thinks his plans are so incredible until he actually tries to carry them out.

His dick is soft again and there’s come cooling on his chest and he isn’t relaxed at all he’s just _drained._ Like all of the good and important things in him had been slowly and methodically ripped out, piece by piece.

What had he been thinking? What’s wrong with him?

So much for blowing off steam. He shifts in his bed, and the poster of Tex catches in the corner of his eye and he goes unexpectedly tense, muscles tightening, a lump appearing in his throat, eyes burning, and oh, oh no. He doesn’t want to cry.

But he isn’t covered in bruises that he _felt,_ he isn’t where he thought he was, with who he thought he’d been with. But he’s all alone. He doesn’t know if that’s his reason or his excuse, but it’s what tips the scales for him.

Church cries.

 

“Hey.” The tone isn’t gentle. She doesn’t know gentle. But it’s cautious, it’s careful. Like she doesn’t want to break him worse.

“Shit,” he says, and turns his face away, hiding the half she can still she behind a hand as best he can. Tries to surreptitiously wipe away tears. “Fuck off.”

“It’s okay,” she states firmly. It doesn’t sound like a reassurance at all, but a reminder of an objective fact.

“I’m not--” he says, and his voice breaks horribly. He hates himself. “It was good, I _liked_ it--”

She crouches down next to him, puts the gun away somewhere else.

“I know,” she tells him. “This is normal. It’s normal. You’ve done this before, remember? And it was okay then too.”

He suddenly remembers that yeah, she’s right, he has done this before. Had a wonderful time and then crashed, overwhelmed and oversensitive, crying and shaking even though nothing’s wrong.

And she was willing to do this again with him anyways, knowing it would happen. It _is_ okay. He feels a little less fragile with that, a little less ready to shatter at any moment.

She takes her helmet off and kisses him, and it’s almost, _almost_ gentle, but it’s just a fraction of a second too short for that, not lingering at all even if it feels genuine and loving and so good that Church untenses, even if he’s still crying.

She leaves him, and he’s back to being as tense as a wire, ready to splinter right down the middle. “Tex--!”

She’s already back. She hands him an open water bottle and starts wiping his come off his chest with a washcloth, thorough and efficient.

He realizes: she’s taking care of him. Like how she’d disassemble and clean her gun after a fight, how she’d polish her armor at the end of the week, how she’d make sure everything that was _hers_ was taken care of.

He’s hers.

Church cries harder, but he swallows down the sobs with a vengeance because he doesn’t want her to think that she’s doing anything wrong, that she’s making things worse, because he wants this to happen again and again and again and she’s so great, how did he get so lucky? How did he get to be with her?

He honestly

 

doesn’t know.


End file.
